


Letters from Vigil Keep

by CarnationGem (Akumeoi)



Series: Ciavran [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Letters, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/CarnationGem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letters from my female elf rogue warden Ciara Tabris to a romanced Zevran. Describes the events of Awakening in somewhat vague detail. (Spoiler warning!!)</p><p>WARNING: Ciara does NOT like Anders. If you are an Anders fan, please don't hate me. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief Ciara personality sketch:  
> +independent  
> +clever, intelligent (esp. interpersonal skills)  
> +self-confident  
> +sarcastic  
> -doesn't suffer fools gladly  
> -feels a lot of pressure, as an elf  
> -undervalues herself  
> -insecure about her appearance

My dearest Zevran,

Today I arrived at Vigil Keep, and also, I got your letter. As you can imagine, the latter event was the highlight of my day. The former was rather a downer, as it turns out, because all was not as we had hoped upon arrival. All of my Grey Wardens who were supposed to have been sent from Orlais are dead. Can you believe it? And now, apparently, there are talking darkspawn taking over my arling. Yes, I know it seems impossible. Yet I swear to you that I have seen them with my own eyes. Try not to spread the word around; I am loathe to start a panic. But if you pick up any information about them in Antiva, unlikely though the occurrence may be, please send word to me immediately.

I have picked up several new companions upon my arrival to the Keep. First among them is Oghren, of all people, who arrived here before me with the intent to become a Grey Warden. He is just as drunk and detestable as ever. So, naturally, I was overjoyed to see him. I have also acquired a new mage and a rogue, so I have all the basic trappings of a decent party. Unfortunately, the mage is a vile piece of work. I would not have recruited him except that I had little choice: you know a decent party is not complete without a mage. The man is just as vulgar as Oghren, but with none of the rustic charm. As for the rogue, he has pretentions at being an assassin. Hah. I’m sure you have a better store of remarks on that subject than I do. In truth, his most interesting feature is his birth. He is the son of Arl Howe. Does that surprise you? I’m sure it does not, though it surprised all the military grunts I am currently surrounded by. You know how willing I am to take a chance on those who need redemption. I judge him as perfectly honourable, but of grievously wounded pride. He is rather tiresome to deal with, but I’m sure he will mellow in time. (He’d better!)

On top of all these ridiculous goings on, a coalition of nobles formerly sworn to Arl Howe is conspiring to kill me. Little do they know that beside the darkspawn, their little plot will be but a pleasant intellectual distraction for me. I only wish you were here to help me get to the bottom of it all, as I feel that ferreting out secrets from a bunch of uppity nobles is the sort of thing you would enjoy. And of course, I wish you were here for various other reasons, most of which I hesitate to put down on paper, lest someone who finds themselves in need of blackmail fuel should get their hands upon this letter. You know what I’m talking about. 

All my love,  
Ciara  
XX


	2. Chapter 2

My dearest Zevran, 

Today I visited the city of Amaranthine, which is an absolutely unremarkable place except for its incredible preponderance of criminals. Fortunately, there was no alienage, so it did not inspire any particular hatred in me; except that it seems everyone in this town is either incompetent or determined to be the first person to fool me. They try such ridiculously juvenile tricks as the “Blight Orfans Fund” and claiming the desire to “protect the children”. I suppose that being in the middle of nowhere like this, that is the best I’m going to get in the way of amusing cons. But nevertheless, I did not donate to the fund. Absolutely not worth the loss of 50 silvers.

Going there was not a total waste of my time, however. I found some Antivan leather boots and an Antivan bow (of all things!) at one of the vendors. I was sorely tempted to purchase the boots because they reminded me of you. Instead, I gave them a good sniff and returned them to the vendor, who seemed (reasonably) perturbed. I’m afraid I had forgotten how bad Antivan leather smells, but it was a welcome reminder. As for the bow, I “acquired” it in the manner which I normally acquire arms and armour - that is to say, I removed it from the person of some poor dead bastard. It is quite good, though not as good as my Bow of the Golden Sun. I have stored it at Vigil’s Keep, should I ever need an extra bow. 

In more unfortunate news, I am increasingly displeased with the rudeness of this mage Anders. Though I feel for his plight as one who also deeply desires to be free, I cannot help but look at the richness of his clothing without feeling that he knows nothing about the true shackles of the world. He has never deigned to look beneath him or attempted to comprehend the struggles of others. Or perhaps he has, and has simply decided that his are worse. Regardless, the man’s attitude is grating. I do not ask him to thank me for saving him, as I’ve no doubt he could have escaped death by himself in some other fashion. But I did give him the best approximation of freedom I could manage, and for that he at least owes me respect. If it were not for Oghren, who seems to detest the man almost as much as I do, I might have decapitated him myself already. Instead, I listen to their banter and manage to derive some amusement from it.

As for our would-be assassin, the deceased Arl’s son, _he_ at least is steadily improving in temperament. It is about as well as could be hoped. 

Oh! One more thing, before I forget - I met Wynne in town today. She had a small request for me, which I naturally agreed to. (I do seem to have a tendency to agree to such things, don’t I?) She had more bad news. Apparently some mages want to leave the chantry altogether, which even Anders believes to be folly. Anyway, she says to send you her regards. 

All my love, always,   
Ciara  
XX


	3. Chapter 3

My dearest Zevran, 

Firstly, I resent the implication that I should sleep with Anders. My complaints about him are in no way intended to disguise some kind of sexual tension. I sincerely believe that the man has virtually no good qualities, excepting that he likes cats. But that is hardly enough to make him attractive - especially not now that I have given him a cat named Sir Pounce-a-lot, which he insists upon carrying around, for he has begun to smell of cat piss. If I wanted to sleep with someone who smelled of eau de chaton, I would go foraging in the gutters of the nearest inn. Besides, he dresses more foppishly than a noble, and his hair is not half so nice as yours is. (Not to mention your eyes are nicer... and your hands are nicer... and your lips are nicer... mmmm...)

But I'm afraid I must return to the subject at hand. I have good news: I have recruited another party member. While I was wandering around a desolate swamp in search of a missing Warden, what should I come across but another of Ferelden’s fantastical talking darkspawn. Before you ask, I did not recruit him, though I’m sure he had a lovely personality. (”Had” because we killed him.) Before his untimely death, the creature somehow got us all stranded in the Fade. I have no idea how. It was not nearly as much fun as the last time, believe me. Anyway, while we were there, we encountered a Spirit of Justice, who was seeking to aid some other spirits trapped in a similar fashion to ourselves. The whole story is rather tiresome, so allow me to skip to the part where we all returned to the real world and the Spirit of Justice was forced by a demon to come along with us. Naturally he felt compelled to straightaway possess the nearest dead body. And that is how I added a shambling, dessicated corpse to my party roster. It is a wonder nobody has tried to throw him out of the Keep yet. I hope that he’ll mummify presently before bits of him begin to fall off. I tried to solve the problem by offering to decapitate him and so send him back from whence he came, but apparently he is as afraid of death as any mortal would be. It is a indeed a pity.

Between him, Oghren, and Anders, I find myself envelopped in a beautiful bouquet of rotting meat, alcohol, and cat scent any time I venture out of doors. I miss the days when Alistair’s sweaty socks and a little marsh mud were all I had to worry about in the way of unpleasant smells. I wish that I could add at least one female companion to this party. If only Mhairy had not been so inconsiderate as to die during the Joining. (I truly regret her loss, but I don’t suppose you of all people would judge me for making jokes about such things, would you, my love?) Perhaps I will find a new Warden in the forest I have yet to visit. 

I am sorry my letters have been so cranky lately. It is all this wandering around in desolate back-country with tiresome companions, I am afraid. I will try and think of some truly good news to end this letter on, so you do not think that I am suffering as terribly as I make myself out to be. Let me see... Ah, I know. Today I held court for the first time at the Keep. Nobles and peasants alike came to me in the hopes that I would settle their disputes. It was completely surreal to be treated like a real noble. But it was not without its charms, believe me. First I refused to let the crown hang a hungry man for theft. Then I refused to give a noble bitch some land which she was trying to claim. And then I threw some fat, pompous pig of a noble murderer into our dungeons to rot. It was glorious. I do believe that if I had nothing else to do all day, I would spend all my time handing out justice. It is a supremely satisfying pursuit. 

Love,   
Ciara  
XX


	4. Chapter 4

My dearest Zevran, 

For goodness’ sake, I do not desire to sleep with Nathaniel Howe anymore than I wanted to sleep with Anders. Even though he is far more tolerable in personality, he is still not you, and therefore not worth my time. Besides, unlike with you, I don’t know if he ever got over the urge to kill me. I can’t tell if you’re simply having a bit of fun at my expense, or if you’re genuinely concerned for my sexual wellbeing. Believe me, I learnt how to take care of such problems by myself long before I met you, and have had no trouble continuing the practice since you departed for Antiva. Allow me to preemptively say that if you suggest I go to bed with any more party members, I may do something untoward, like keep you waiting for an excessive amount of time when next I receive one of your letters.

Guess what? My desire for female companionship (don’t even go there) has been answered. By a mage elf named Velanna, who tried to kill us all with walking trees. Sadly, she is a Dalish elf, which means that our first meeting involved her rudely accusing me of working for shems. Hah! Me, work for some fat city merchants who cater to nobles? I don’t think so. But in her defence, her sister had just been the victim of horrid darkspawn experiments, so I have been as kind to her as I possibly could. I hope that my leading by example will allow her to realise that not _all_ humans are racist bastards, just _most_ humans. In any case, I’d rather have an somewhat stuck-up elf around than have Anders. Now that I have a spare mage, perhaps it is time to start thinking of putting those assassination skills you taught me to good use. 

Ah, I jest. I could not bring myself to orphan Sir Pounce-a-lot. 

Speaking of assassins, you will never guess who I encountered today. Some of your good friends in the Crows! Apparently someone forgot that they already tried and failed to kill me once, and made the mistake of letting some noble pay for me to send a couple more assassins to meet the Maker. Honestly, you’d think that they would have learnt from the first attempt. If you couldn’t kill me, then who could, I say? These ones didn’t even give me a chance to consider recruiting them before they fell upon my arrows and died. But it was not a total loss. I got a lovely Crow dagger from one of them, and since I kept the one I took from you when we first met, I now have a matching pair. If I get any more of these things, I’ll have to start a collection. 

All my love,  
Ciara  
XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And then they ran into my arrows. They ran into my arrows ten times."


	5. Chapter 5

My dearest Zevran,

No, I’m afraid I don’t know the name of the Crow that I killed. His body has already been disposed of, but I have enclosed a sketch of his face, done by myself from memory. My sketching abilities are, I fear, not quite as good as my fighting abilities. I have not drawn extensively since I was a girl, and in the past I only sketched such things as blueprints, designs, and diagrams. I know, I had a somewhat unusual childhood. I blame my mother. Anyway, I hope the picture is adequate. If it is not, I'm afraid his identity will forever remain a mystery to us both. Though it's not like the identities of most of the people I've killed were somehow otherwise!

Also enclosed, you will find a small gold bar which I found in the city upon my latest visit. It is a gift for you. I still do not particularly understand your fascination with un-crafted metals, but if they truly please you I shall of course procure as many of them as I can get my hands on. Sadly, though the local merchants were fruitful in the way of gifts, they had absolutely the wrong sorts of runes. I cannot find either a Grandmaster Flame or Grandmaster Lightning rune, both of which I require in order to get upgraded weapons for my party. Most vexing! 

I have not accomplished much else of note since I last wrote to you, excepting the delivery of death notices to a few poor widows around Amaranthine. If you’ll remember my brief stint as a death messenger for the Blackstone Irregulars, you may imagine how well these visits went, especially as I no longer had any impersonal letters to hide behind. I had to deliver the bad news to one woman in front of her illegitimate lover, which was, of course, a disaster. I’m sure she expected me to accuse her of cheating or suchlike, but honestly, I’d rather that situation remain none of my business. Then I had to go speak with the widow of the owner of the body that Justice now possesses. I don’t know why she kicked up such a fuss about his presence, seeing as her husband was already dead when Justice took up residence inside of it. I was afraid for a moment that she would try to kiss him or something horrid like that, but fortunately, she thought better of it. Mayhap it was the smell that put her off. Now that I think about it, perhaps he was not the best person (?) to bring along on that mission. But he did expressly request the visit himself, so I suppose I would have had a rather difficult time in talking him out of it.

I suppose I should probably tell you about something I neglected to mention in my last letter, which is that I got imprisoned again, this time by darkspawn in the Wending Wood. They took all of my possessions, but you can be sure I was quick to reclaim them. Some filthy ghoul was walking around with _my_ drake-skin armour attired on its pustulent corpse. I put an arrow through its eye, but that did nothing to erase the slime from the inside of the armour. I don’t suppose these idiot creatures know or appreciate all the work which goes into keeping a piece of armour clean. It is not like simply laundering a shirt! It is lucky I am a Grey Warden, or I would have had to throw the whole thing out immediately, lest I become blighted. Yes, I recognise the irony. If I were not a Grey Warden, I would not have been there in the first place. But I _am_ a Grey Warden, so I feel perfectly entitled to complain about the abominable manners of the darkspawn I am obligated to slay. 

Here’s hoping that the darkspawn (and other miscreants) are more considerate in Antiva. 

All my love,  
Ciara  
XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the gold bar: I forgot to give it to him in Origins, but I couldn't bear to throw it out in Awakening, so I just put it into the personal storage. I figure that this is what would have ended up happening to it if Ciara had her way. =)


	6. Chapter 6

My dearest Zevran, 

Of course I was not harmed by the darkspawn kidnapping. Well, I acquired a large quantity of cuts and bruises, of course, but that is nothing out of the ordinary. The only difference was that some of them were in most unusual places, because I had to fight without armour for the better part of the escape attempt. But after imbibing a significant quantity of elfroot (oh, faithful elfroot!) I seem to have made a full recovery. Although I did notice a new scar on my ribcage the other day. But I do not know how it got there. You’ll take a look at it for me when you come back, won’t you? I’m sure you’ll find it most charming, especially if your introduction to it is properly prefaced. I am sure you can come up with something suitable.

I’m sorry it took me so long to reply to your letter. I hope that you were not too concerned for me. I spent the better part of the last few weeks wandering around in yet more underground caverns - this time, the remains of an old dwarven fort. We went there at the urging of the sole surviving member of a company of the Legion of the Dead (elite dwarven fighters, you will recall). Well, we were unable to save any of her companions (obviously, or I wouldn’t have said “sole survivor”), but we did encounter ghosts, golems, darkspawn, nasty darkspawn grubs, nasty darkspawn hatchlings, and nasty darkspawn hurlocks in the wretched place. And yet more darkspawn, for good measure. I do not know why I continually allow myself to be convinced to visit such dank and dusty relics. I hate being underground. On this one point I completely agree with Velanna - I’d rather be under the open sky.

Actually, a rather unpleasant thing occurred in the dungeons of this sky-less place. You see, the keep was a brooding ground. There were upwards of three broodmothers there, and you know how I dread those foul creatures. Fortunately, I did not have to fight them directly. Instead, I was able to drop a large iron ball on them instead, for which I have been thanking the Maker explicitly every day since that day. However... the nightmares have begun again. I do not think there is anything I can do to make them go away.

I am sorry, but I do not think I am much in the spirit to go on with this letter. I know this must be a rather paltry offering in light of the length of time that has elapsed, but I cannot write any more at present. The seneschal wants me in the Great Hall to talk strategy with the blasted nobles anyway. 

Wishing Antiva were not so very far away,  
Yours always,  
Ciara  
XX

P.S. I thank you for the flame rune. Now all I need is a Greater Warmth Balm, and my new shield will be the envy of all Thedas. I plan to put the Grey Warden crest on it. Let the First Warden covet it all he likes, the stingy, miserable bastard. 

P.P.S. I am still not over the loss of the Orlesian Wardens, as you may have noticed. I wonder if any of them would have made better companions than this ridiculous rag-tag band I’ve managed to aquire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, he didn't actually send her a flame rune. And actually, I can't find one either. So that part was mostly just wishful thinking. Sigh.
> 
> Also, Ciara was especially mentally scarred by the Broodmother in Origins, hence the turn at the end of this letter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: MASSIVE spoilers for the ending.

My dearest Zevran, 

Well, it is all over. I’m alive - barely. My Keep still stands - barely. And the city of Amaranthine still stands - again, barely. But I am alive, and they do stand, and all of my companions yet live as well. And the darkspawn are gone, so if this letter seems slightly incoherent, it’s because I’ve already been celebrating. But don’t worry, I promise not to drink anything Oghren gives me. Though maybe he has already passed out somewhere? I have no idea. But I’m sure you are eager to hear the story of how I managed to survive my latest encounter with Ferelden’s fantastical talking darkspawn, so allow me to explain...

Imagine my surprise when, in the middle of the boring strategy meeting (”boring” because it was mostly me fielding questions from nobles, rather than actually planning strategy), a messenger arrived to tell me that Amaranthine was being attacked by darkspawn. Yes, Amaranthine, the city I had vacated just two short days previously. And somehow, when I arrived there, they claimed the city had been under attack for four days, which is why the city was totally overrun. Strange, no? I suspect they may have been covering for the incompetence of the city guard. Or perhaps the darkspawn simply waited until the second I left the city to attack it; it would not be unheard of. At that exact moment _another_ messenger showed up, this one informing me that now the Keep was under attack and that I should return there immediately. 

Tell me something, Zevran. I spent countless hours and a good deal of money, as well as risking sending soldiers we couldn’t spare, to discover, claim, and use stone and ore pits all over the arling; I found and delivered incredibly amounts of lyrium sand to our resident mad dwarven bomber; and I recruited and outfitted the best Wardens I could find, three of whom were left behind at the Keep when I rushed to Amaranthine. So why, for the love of Andraste herself, do you think that I could reasonably be expected to return to the Keep? The walls were strong; the men were strong; the Warden recruits I had personally trained were there. And Amaranthine was burning, and I was asked to turn away? Never! I may be the most senior Grey Warden in Ferelden outside of King Alistair, but to think that I am the only person capable of holding a strong, well-provisioned Keep would be absolute vanity on my part. Though the captain of the city guard protested this decision, I overrode him and went on to save as many commoners as I could. As it turns out, I was absolutely right. The Keep did stand, and had I not stayed in the city it would have been overrun. I suppose that people don’t need me around to fight, but they do need me around to make decisions for them. 

After my party and I took care of the city, we left at the urging of a darkspawn messenger to seek out some being called “the Architect” who was fighting another being called “the Mother”. This “Architect” turned out to be the one who was responsible for teaching all the darkspawn to talk. It attempted to make a deal with me, as many of my enemies do, but after it had locked me up and created the Mother itself, I do not rightly know what it thought it was expecting. After killing it, we fought our way to the Mother, who turned out to be (naturally) a talking broodmother. Welcome back to Nightmare City. But with the help of some ancient Tevinter mage towers, we were able to slay her. Interestingly enough, her existence has not affected me as much as I feared it would, though perhaps that is the alcohol speaking (if so, I can see why Oghren is constantly at the stuff). Or perhaps it is that she is the first broodmother I have killed with my own hands, which gives me a measure of closure. We will have to wait and see if my nightmares worsen. But as I am in a celebrating mood, let us pass from this subject.

Upon the slaying of both the Architect and the Mother, the remaining darkspawn fled. And I and my party returned to Vigil Keep to discover Oghren passed out, which is the usual state of affairs, and Anders a hero, which is decidedly not. The Spirit of Justice is gone. He took up some darkspawn on my offer of a decapitation, which I think is most inconsiderate. If anyone was to do it, it should have been me. I was, after all, his commander. And for my other three companions: Sighrun seems to have recovered a certain spring in her step, and Nathaniel Howe the pride in his eyes. He told me while we were on the road that he now considers me to be his friend. I was very glad to hear that, as I also consider him to be one. Of all the new Wardens I recruited during this adventure, he was my most trusted; excepting Oghren, but he is not “new” as the others are, in the sense that he had previously been exposed to the charms of my leadership. The only person who is not happy at the moment is Velanna, who is off sulking. She did not wish me to kill the Architect, because her sister had sided with him and may now be lost to us. I wish I could console her, but I fear that only time will heal that particular wound. I wish things could have been otherwise, but I suppose this was inevitable from the first. Ah, well. I tried my best for all my companions, but there are some problems even I cannot resolve. 

I have more to tell you, but I fear that they will not let me leave this celebration for long. Everyone thinks I am some kind of hero (again), so I must go accept a lot of undeserved praise and a lot of unwanted beverages. 

I am so glad this is over. 

Love, love, love,   
Ciara  
XX


	8. (Post-script to letter #7)

My dearest Zevran, 

I have read over my previous letter in the cold light of day, and found that it is relatively coherent, so I shall send it with this one by the next courier. But I do not expect you to reply to it, or to this one. You see, this is the beginning of a race, a race between myself and the kingdom’s fine mail delivery system. Because I am coming to Antiva. 

No, no, do not protest. It’s not like there will be more than a week between the arrival of this letter and the arrival of myself, so it is too late to stop me anyway. I am done with my work at Vigil’s Keep. It has proven itself capable of withstanding a massive darkspawn onslaught, under the leadership of someone other than me. There is no need for me to remain here. I could continue to track down darkspawn stragglers and recruit new Wardens, but I have absolutely no desire to do any of that, because my beloved is in Antiva. I am sure you can handle the Crows by yourself, but that is not why I am coming. I am coming because I am tired of fighting without you at my side. Not to mention that my bed is as cold and hard as a stone without you in it. This is not an acceptable state of affairs. I promised myself I would not put anything naughty in this letter, especially as I might think up better ideas while I’m on the road, but please know that as soon as I see you again I intend to remind you all night of _exactly_ why we belong together. 

All my love,   
Ciara  
XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoyed! Feel free to leave feedback!  
> (But no hate for Ciara, please. =)


End file.
